


7-Ligatures

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 3, What Was Old is New Again [7]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-27
Updated: 2001-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	7-Ligatures

With the aide on one side of Qui-Gon as he sat on the edge of his bed, Obi-Wan slipped under his other arm and together they lifted him as smoothly as if they’d practiced it. He tried to relax in their grip but found himself tensing up, unused to being shifted around like so much baggage. They were both very gentle with him, and that, perhaps, was part of the problem. Capable of great gentleness himself, Qui-Gon was unused to being quite so in need of it.

“We won’t drop you,” Obi-Wan said with amusement quirking his lips into a small smile.

“I know, Padawan.” And he did, because he could feel not just four strong arms holding him but the Force buoying him as well.

He was grateful for his padawan’s extra precaution. Not because he thought Obi-Wan really might drop him, but because the ground seemed a very long way off after so long flat on his back. He was glad to be upright again and to be untethered from the tubes and sensors they’d kept on and in him for so long. Still, the half-dozen steps to the chair seemed like kilometers and he was chagrined at his weakness, at feeling lightheaded and exhausted after the exertion of merely being lifted and carried. Gods, today he felt his age, and more.

With great care, the two young men lowered him into the chair near the window and Obi-Wan tucked a quilt around his legs. Next he fetched a pillow, then a cup of tea then—

Then Qui-Gon grabbed his lover’s hand, pulled him down onto his lap. “Stop it, fusspot,” he murmured into Obi-Wan’s ear, using one of his apprentice’s favorite pejoratives. “You’re making me tired just watching you. Sit with me, in the sun.”

“I’m too heavy—” he protested, starting to wriggle out of his master’s weakened grasp.

“No, you’re not, if you’ll sit still.”

“Your legs—”

“Are fine, love. A little numb and not very obedient yet, but they weren’t broken. They may not support me standing up, but they’ll bear you sitting down. Come here,” he growled. “Let me hold you. It’s been too long.”

And it had been, Obi-Wan thought, letting himself be molded against his master’s long torso, Qui-Gon’s prickly, unruly beard scratching against his neck. Much too long. Twenty-seven days. And it might have been never again. The red blade flashed once more in his mind’s eye and Qui-Gon fell: spine almost completely severed, intestines perforated, liver pierced, pancreas nicked—in short, a bloody mess, or what would have been a bloody mess if the weapon hadn’t cauterized nearly everything. Still, shock had nearly killed him at the scene—shock and the drain of his own life force by Sith who had speared him. He’d lost a meter and a half of intestines in surgery. There had been the infection and pneumonia afterwards, and three immersions in the bacta tank. He was still terrifyingly weak and could not yet walk. It would be some time before his legs worked as they should. Twenty-seven days.

Qui-Gon rubbed his cheek against the underside of Obi-Wan’s jaw and sighed, one hand sneaking inside his lover’s tunic to rest against his belly, as though searching for a mirroring wound. There might as well have been one; Obi-Wan had felt everything through their bond, muted and controllable, but still agonizing. He’d let the pain fuel him and fought as he never had before, well enough to win his own knighthood. It seemed wrong, somehow, that something he had wanted so badly should come at the cost of his master’s injury.

 _//Nothing of the kind, Padawan. Don’t be absurd.//_ Qui-Gon chided, sounding sleepy even through this new and stronger bond they’d formed as a by-product of Obi-Wan’s efforts in keeping his master alive. _//You won that battle on your own terms with your own skills. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. And you’ve made me very proud of you.//_

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan murmured, suddenly feeling equally sleepy and deeply pleased. It was odd how their emotions and physical states were feeding back to one another now.

 _//Mmmm, yes. Very odd. Rather pleasant,//_ Qui-Gon responded, arms tightening just a little around the warm body leaning against him. _//Almost like having you with me in the tank. A great comfort.//_ “Have I told you how very much I love you?” he whispered into the soft and somewhat overlong red-gold hair, pressing his lips to the his lover’s ear.

“Yes, Master. Many times,” Obi-Wan murmured, nestling against him, wanting as much comfort as he could glean from being close to Qui-Gon again.

Since his master had first told him he’d passed his trials, Obi-Wan had had a sense of circumstances shifting seismically around him. Everything was going to change, was changing, without his consent, and there was little he could do about it—or knew he should do. Nonetheless, he found himself swinging between elation that he had passed his trials, that Qui-Gon was alive to see it and would be the one to cut the braid from his hair, and uneasiness about the paths of his own and his master’s futures, both together and apart. At least one of the ties between them was unraveling even as they sat here together. Obi-Wan had taken a step away from the place he had occupied for the last 12 years of his life and soon he would be walking away for good. The only question that remained was how far from Qui-Gon he would go. The answer would come soon enough.

Now, if they weren’t careful, both of them would soon be fast asleep in the sun that was streaming through the window overlooking the gardens of the palace on Naboo.

 _//Not such a terrible thing. You need some rest too, love,//_ Qui-Gon told him. _//You’ve not been sleeping well, have you? Worrying too much about your old wreck of a master.//_

“Not old,” he protested, feeling himself and Qui-Gon falling into the well of sleep and declining to catch either of them.

 

* * *

 

Mace found them that way, sitting in Q’s room in the sunlight, Obi-Wan dozing against his master, Qui-Gon asleep with his cheek against his apprentice’s shoulder. It seemed a shame to wake them as they both looked equally tired and quite peaceful in each other’s arms. This was probably better for Q than all the treatment he’d had in the last 30 days, though not for lack of Obi-Wan’s presence. The young man had been with his master nearly every moment, sleeping nearby when Qui-Gon was in the bacta tank—would have crawled into it with him if he’d been allowed, no doubt. Mace found it difficult to recall a pair as devoted to each other as these two were. In some ways, he suspected, Obi-Wan’s knighthood was going to be a true hardship, separating the two of them as it would.

Because it was becoming more certain that they could not continue to work together, not if Qui-Gon were determined in his course, and the Council in its.

Windu sighed. There were times he would have hated his position if such an emotion were allowed a Councillor. At this moment, he certainly regretted it, and thought he would probably regret it more in the days to follow. He stepped farther into the room, laying his hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder, reluctantly attending to duty and waking him.

Obi-Wan snuffled against his former master, yawned, and came awake as well, as Qui-Gon opened his eyes. Not quite as instantly alert as he usually was, Qui-Gon was still much more awake than the new knight-elect, who seemed not the least abashed to be caught napping on his lover’s lap by a Council member. Not so long ago, Obi-Wan would probably have been mortified, but his self-possession had not exactly grown but certainly changed since he’d passed his trials. Mace thought it seemed to have less to do with coming into adulthood, a state he had firmly occupied for some time, than with stepping out of his master’s shadow.

“Q, Obi-Wan, I’m sorry to wake you,” Mace apologized.

Qui-Gon shook his head and smiled. “It’s always good to see you, my friend. But this isn’t a social call, is it?”

“It’s always the visit of a friend, Q, even when it’s official. But I do need to discuss some administrative matters with you before I return to Coruscant this afternoon.”

Obi-Wan gracefully removed himself from his master’s lap. “I’ll leave you two, then. Please don’t tire him out, Master Windu.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan. I’ll be sure not to.”

 

Still yawning, Obi-Wan wandered out into the hallway, almost colliding with Anakin, who was just tearing around a corner of the medical wing. Obi-Wan grabbed him as he flew by, swung him around to dissipate some of the momentum and set him down again, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Slow down, Ani, here especially. This isn’t the place to be run— . . . what’s the matter?” he asked, alarmed at the look of panic on Anakin’s face.

“They’re going to send me away!” he blurted, gasping from what had apparently been quite a long dash. The boy looked terrified and angry, near tears.

Obi-Wan knelt down in front of him, and pulled him close and held him. “No one’s going to send you away, Ani. Master Qui-Gon made a promise to you and I’ve never known him to break one. He won’t start now. Who told you you were being sent away?”

“Master Windu. He said they were going to send me to one of the Jedi whatchallits, where you live, but not the big one—”

“One of the sister temples?”

“Yeah. But I want to stay with Master Qui-Gon!”

“So you shall, Ani. He may just want to start some of your training at a smaller temple first. Let’s find out what Master Windu meant by it. He’s with Master Jinn now. We’ll wait here for him.”

 

Mace surveyed his friend critically. Like Obi-Wan, he hadn’t been far from Qui-Gon’s side during his illness and had stayed behind when Yoda and the others returned to Coruscant, both to be with his old friend and to spend some time with Anakin, since Qui-Gon seemed so determined to train the boy. From the beginning, he’d had a bad feeling about this stray Qui-Gon had collected, sensing, as Yoda had, the great fear in him. But the more time he’d spent with the boy, the more he’d begun to realize that, even if he weren’t the Chosen One as Qui-Gon so firmly believed, the boy needed to be under some form of Jedi guidance. He was too powerful in the Force to be let loose unsupervised with the Sith returned.

“How are you feeling, Q?” Mace asked, sitting in the chair across from him. “It’s good to see you up again.”

“Better than I’ve any right to feel. I must admit it’s good to be out of bed for a bit though.”

“Obi-Wan did a very extraordinary thing, holding onto you that way. I don’t think I remember another Jedi ever doing that, not even a healer.”

“Not bad for a lad who’s always been closer to the Unifying Force,” Qui-Gon smiled.

“No. Not bad at all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen as clear a demonstration of readiness for knighthood. You’ve done well by him, Q. More than well.”

“Enough to compensate for my earlier failure, I hope. I think Obi-Wan will be an extraordinary knight.”

“Yes, I think he will. Like his master.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow in Windu’s direction, blue eyes piercing. “What are you avoiding, Mace, with all these compliments? I’m not some senator whose ego needs coddling.”

“You’re being very blunt for one of our best diplomats, Q. I suppose that means I must as well. We’ve taken you off the active duty roster.”

“Is that what you wanted to speak to me about?” Qui-Gon looked at him quizzically. “It’s nothing unexpected, given my condition.”

“Among other things. I was wondering if you planned to stay off it, although it’s probably too soon to ask.”

“You mean because I was so roundly defeated? You think it’s time for the old man to step down before he gets himself killed in a more permanent manner?”

“I mean there’s an opening on the Council, or going to be in a quarter’s time. Adi’s feeling it’s time to take another padawan. I’m willing to nominate you in her place. More than willing. If I don’t, Yoda certainly will, or Plo.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Thank you, but I’ve the same reason for refusing that Adi does. It’s too difficult to train a padawan and serve on the Council. And you know my feelings about serving on it already. They haven’t changed since the last time I was nominated. I was thinking, as a matter of fact, that it was time I took up a teaching post.”

“Your padawan is about to become a knight, Q.”

“I’ve another waiting in the wings for just that eventuality, Mace, as you well know, and he’s eight years behind in his training. I was planning to ask you to take me off the field rotation for a time, but he’ll need the experience eventually, even if it’s not as dangerous as mine have been in the past.”

“That was the other thing I wanted to discuss.”

“Ah,” was Qui-Gon’s only response. Mace felt the atmosphere cool and harden subtly, as though Qui-Gon were readying himself for battle, but letting Mace take the offensive.

So be it. It wouldn’t be the first time they had locked horns; part of him was grateful Qui-Gon was alive for them to do so, but he hoped it would be the last they would. “I’ve been spending some time with Anakin while you’ve been ill, Q. He is an extraordinary child in many ways, as you’ve said. His presence in the Force is powerful and unmistakable, and I think it’s a good thing the Jedi—you—found him before the Sith or anything worse than his last master did. There’s a great deal of untapped potential there.”

“But?”

“He’s dangerously angry to be even an initiate.”

“Of course he is, Mace.” There was a trace of familiar exasperation in Qui-Gon’s voice; Windu found it oddly comforting. “The boy’s been a slave for his entire life. He’s lived with injustice and cruelty that most of us in the Republic never imagine, let alone endure. He’s watched his mother endure it as well. Now he’s been taken from the only stable influence in his life and plunged into the middle of a war, where he acquitted himself with more bravery and poise than many people thrice his age. Then he watched the person who’d only just become his guardian struggle back from death. He’s just a child. He’s uncertain, confused, homesick, lonely, and frightened. Of course he’s angry. He needs to know someone cares for him, that someone will take an interest in him, take care of him. Love him.”

Mace stifled another sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Yes, I agree with you completely. I’m just not certain he can be trained. We’ve never—”

Qui-Gon held up one hand, glowering fiercely. “If you have the unmitigated gall to tell me that we’ve never trained a Jedi from anything but infancy, I’m going to have to have you thrown out of here, because the resulting reaction will be bad for my still somewhat rickety health. You know our early history as well as I do, Mace. There would be no Jedi if it were only possible to train them from that early an age. I’ll be the first to say it’s easier, but I’ve never been convinced it’s better. I’ve never liked the idea of tearing children from their families, and it’s been the root of trouble with more initiates and apprentices than the Council cares to admit, one of my own included.”

“You’re very determined about this, aren’t you?”

“Why should that surprise you? I will train the boy, Mace. No matter what the Council says.”

“I don’t think the Council will support you.”

“I will do what the Force tells me must be done,” Qui-Gon returned with a calm but implacable stubbornness.

“You always do, Qui-Gon,” Windu sighed. “And more often than not, you’ve been right. I want you to know that I think you’re probably one of the few who can train the boy successfully. No one else—except perhaps Yoda or Depa—has either the experience, the patience, or the—”

“Audacity?”

Mace smiled. “Actually, I was going to say the capacity for love, but yes, that too. You know what the Council’s like—”

“Hidebound, conservative, short-sighted—”

“Enough! I’ve heard it before,” Mace protested. “Yes, all those things, unfortunately.”

“It’s going to be a battle, isn’t it?”

There was a trace of weariness in Qui-Gon’s voice that worried his former lover. Mace thought, suddenly, that he looked his age. _Sixty. Old men, both of us. Squabbling old windbags._ That could describe half the Council. “I’m afraid so,” Windu replied regretfully. “And I’m afraid it might tear us apart. You’ve got as many critics as friends on the Council, Q, but not all of your friends can afford to support you. That was one of the reasons I wanted to nominate you. It would give you more leverage from which to fight for Anakin, and some protection for him—and you—as well. Obi-Wan could become his master—.”

“As fine a knight as he is going to become, this is not the task for him. You know that as well as I. Anakin needs someone with far more experience—and patience—than Obi-Wan has. And when did Ani or I begin to require protection?”

“Since Palpatine became Supreme Chancellor. He’s very interested in the boy’s welfare, and not, I think, in an entirely good way. There’s something about the man that I don’t trust.”

“If he’s that interested,” Qui-Gon growled, “he should let us do what’s best for him and stay out of it.”

Mace burst out laughing, and the sound of it triggered an answering, somewhat sheepish smile from Qui-Gon, apparently breaking his increasingly grim mood. Qui-Gon had often told him how much he loved to watch Mace’s features fill with light when he laughed, loved the sound of it booming through a room. After so many years, it seemed that pleasure was just as great, though less frequently experienced. He was glad enough to give Qui-Gon what little pleasure he could.

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay out of _your_ way! By all the Sith hells, Q, you’re none the worse for having been in a bacta tank for 30 days, are you?”

“I’ve been dead, Mace, and it was damned pleasant, for the most part. After that, very little else seems worrisome. Except doing the right thing.”

“That’s all that’s ever mattered to you, thank the Force. I hate to think what the Jedi would be facing if you’d ever turned. I have a suggestion to make, though.”

“Yes?”

The amusement and pleasure drained from Windu’s heart, replaced by the gravity he usually cloaked himself with in the Council’s chambers, and a regret so gentle it disguised itself as sorrow. “You won’t like it. If it’s any compensation, none of us on the Council do. But it might be the only solution to what Yoda’s seen coming in the Sith’s return. He’s left this for you,” Mace said, handing him a small holopad. “For your eyes only.”

He watched the chill of premonition pass through his friend, feeling like a bailiff bearing an order of execution.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan sat in the hall with Anakin fidgeting between his knees. The boy was a small bundle of nervous energy and Obi-Wan could feel the anxiety and fear radiating from him, unallayed by Obi-Wan’s presence. His own relationship with Anakin was still a little rocky, after the new start they’d tried to make, and the boy didn’t yet entirely trust him, nor could Obi-Wan fault him for it. He’d certainly acted badly enough to give Anakin little reason to trust him and the spat between himself and Qui-Gon that the boy had witnessed had only made him more suspicious of Obi-Wan. They were both making an effort to mend things, and Anakin, to his credit, was trying very hard to let go of his hurt. Obi-Wan thought a little more positive action on his own part probably wouldn’t be amiss.

“I know you’re worried, Ani, but worrying won’t change things,” he said now, stroking the boy’s hair as Qui-Gon had done with him so many times when he’d been a fidgety boy himself. Just being touched seemed to calm him a little, as it always had when Qui-Gon had done the same. “One way or another, I doubt you’ll be separated from Master Qui-Gon. And if you are, it won’t be for long, and I’ll be with you, I promise you. It’s going to take Qui-Gon some time to get well enough to begin training you, but he won’t let anyone send you away.”

“Do you mean that, ser?” the boy said hopefully, the need for comfort warring with mistrust.

“Yes. I’m not just saying it to make you feel better, Ani. Whatever he has to do, Qui-Gon will train you. He’s said so.” He frowned for a moment, then seemed to come to some decision and knelt on the floor. “Here, I probably shouldn’t do this, but let me show you something that will make the waiting easier. Kneel here with me.”

Gently, he pulled Anakin to him between his knees until the boy’s back was resting against him. He squirmed a little and seemed very reluctant to be where he was. “I’m not going to hurt you, Ani,” Obi-Wan said gently. “If you don’t like it, we’ll stop, and I’ll let Master Jinn teach you.”

“This is something he’d show me?” the boy asked doubtfully.

“Yes, just the way he showed me, when I became his padawan,” Obi-Wan assured him.

“What do I have to do?” he said with a sort of grim determination.

“Just relax. And—trust me. It’s very pleasant, really.”

Anakin took a deep breath and seemed to steel himself, though Obi-Wan did nothing more than hold him. He seemed not at all comfortable with being in such close proximity to another and Obi-Wan wondered if it would have been so if he were Qui-Gon. Tension sang through the thin little body in his arms, sharp terror beneath it, and Obi-Wan felt some of his own worries about Anakin melt away in empathy. He wondered what awful things the boy had endured to make him so skittish of another’s touch. He’d never been this fearful in his own childhood, even in the creche. Growing up, he’d been surrounded by adults who cared for and respected him, always certain he was valued and loved and safe. Anakin’s life had been precarious at best and must still seem so to him. His tension and fear jangled the Force around him like an alarum. Obi-Wan ruffled the boy’s hair and hugged him lightly, then left his arms around him loosely, saddened when the boy flinched away a little. “Lean back against me, Ani, and try to relax. Can you feel me breathing?”

“Yes, ser,” Anakin replied in a small voice, real fear in it.

“See if you can match your breath with mine. That’s all I want you to think about. Feel it going in through your nose and out through your mouth,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Feel it going into your chest, down into your belly, right down to your toes.” He let down his shields a little and reached out to Anakin, letting the boy feel some of his own peace and contentment through the Force. Gradually, the tension flowed out of the boy’s limbs and he let more of his weight rest against Obi-Wan’s chest. Soon they were breathing in time as peacefully as he and Qui-Gon ever had.

As the tension left him, so did the aura of fear and suspicion that had surrounded him. Anakin seemed more at ease with him now than he had since they’d met. Certainly, then, he’d done the right thing, despite the misgivings he had about teaching the boy. They sat quietly, waiting for some time before Master Windu appeared.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon put the holopad aside and looked up into Mace’s eyes, searching for something, whether reassurance or reprieve, neither of them knew. After a moment, Qui-Gon managed to smile, one loaded with self-mockery and irony. “I suppose I could see this as just desserts for my years of quarreling with all of you.”

“It has nothing to do with retribution or punishment, Q. I know it seems that way—”

“Truthfully, it doesn’t, Mace. It does, however, seem almost inevitable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We do what we must.”

“Sith, Qui-Gon! In another age you’d have been a martyr’s martyr,” Windu swore bitterly.

“What would you have me do, Mace? Refuse? How could I, knowing what’s at stake?”

The Councillor was silent for a moment, looking at his own boot toes rather than at his oldest friend’s face. He only looked up when he trusted himself to school his own features. “I would have preferred your anger. I could share that. This meek acceptance—I couldn’t do it.”

Qui-Gon smiled sadly. “So it came to me. You needn’t be angry for me. Or afraid.”

Mace laughed harshly. “Don’t waste it on you, you mean? I wonder—” He stopped and shook his head, words—these words he wanted to say, needed to say—choking him.

“What, old friend?” Qui-Gon prompted gently.

Mace said nothing for some time. When he looked at Qui-Gon again, there was just a little too much brightness in his eyes. “I never knew you, did I? Not really.”

“No. But that didn’t change the fact that we loved each other.” Qui-Gon paused for a moment. “You’ll tell Yoda—”

“Yes,” Windu cut him off. “Yes. I’ll send your things on to Arkania. Take your time there. Get well, Q. Come back to us when you’re ready.” And left before there were more words he had to swallow.

 

* * *

 

Mace was astonished, on leaving Qui-Gon’s room, to find Obi-Wan and Anakin kneeling just outside the door, the boy nestled between Obi-Wan’s knees in what was obviously a meditation exercise. Uncannily, the two of them opened their eyes at exactly the same time, fixing Mace with exactly the same expression of serene curiosity.

“Don’t you two go forming a training bond,” he muttered.

“No, Master,” they said together, and broke into snickers, one mischievous, the other both amused and a little surprised.

“Anakin’s worried about being separated from Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “He thought you might be sending him alone to one of the smaller temples.”

“No, child,” Mace replied. “I said we might send you to one of the smaller temples with Master Jinn while he recovers. We’ll be sending you with him, Obi-Wan, unless you prefer to be knighted immediately, in the field, as it were.”

“If the Order can wait for me to assume my full duties, I’d prefer a ceremony with my master and friends at the mother temple.”

“Since I don’t think Master Jinn can really spare the services of his former padawan right now, I think the Order can wait,” Mace smiled. That was little enough to give Qui-Gon in return for the sacrifice he’d agreed to. “As soon as he’s a little stronger, we thought you should go to the Temple on Arkania. It’s secluded and quiet—just the place for Qui to get back on his feet and for a young apprentice to begin catching up in his training. Queen Amidala has kindly placed her personal ship at your master’s disposal, so you’ll be able to leave whenever Qui-Gon’s ready. Is that satisfactory, Padawan Skywalker?”

Anakin’s face lit in one of his blinding, infectiously joyous grins. “Yes, S—Master Windu! You bet!”

At that moment, Mace found it hard to believe the boy was anything more than he appeared to be: a child who had gotten his heart’s desire. It made him hope more than ever that Yoda was wrong.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan watched his master settle into the chair in the common room with relief, taking a deep breath and feeling the tension flow out of his shoulders. It was not Qui-Gon’s chair, and these were not their rooms, but they were welcoming and warm, and filled with the presence of Jedi, as was the Temple around them. That alone was a comfort after the tens spent on Naboo where there were only three of them, and one of them wildly untrained in his shielding.

Qui-Gon sighed heavily and put the walker frame beside his chair. He had been using it without mishap for some time now, but it still made Obi-Wan tense up every time he reached for it and got to his feet. Though Qui-Gon worked himself hard under the Naboo therapists’ watchful eyes, he had still lost a fair amount of muscle mass and tone during his time in the bacta and the days after. More cruelly, the severing of nerves in his spine had left him as uncoordinated as a toddler. He was having to learn to walk all over again, and was just as stubborn about it as he must have been as a child. Unfortunately, his center of gravity was now much higher than it had been the first time he’d learned these lessons, with more serious consequences. Trying to rise without Obi-Wan’s assistance early on in the process, the older man had taken a fall and bruised his hip quite badly. He’d been so angry and so frustrated that he hadn’t even thought to use the Force either to cushion his fall or help himself up again. His knight-elect had not been in the room when it had happened but had given his former master a thorough tongue-lashing as he picked a still-fuming Qui-Gon up off the floor nearly a half-hour later. That had frightened Obi-Wan badly. Since then, he had found himself on combat alert each time his master struggled upright. It was nearly as exhausting as the work of recovery was for Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan looked at him now as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, clearly drained by the short trip from landing pad near Arkania’s Temple to their rooms inside it. The journey out from Naboo had been relatively easy, conveyed as they had been in Queen Amidala’s personal craft with Ric Olie at the helm, but still tiring for Obi-Wan’s master, who was used to doing all things with ease, and now had to struggle merely to walk. For the first time in their years together, Qui-Gon seemed . . . old. The very idea terrified Obi-Wan, yet he could not deny the evidence. The lines around Qui-Gon’s mouth and eyes were more pronounced now, his features drawn and the skin stretched over them seeming thin and papery, and he dozed off at odd moments like an old man. And yet he wasn’t. Sixty wasn’t old. Not really, Obi-Wan thought somewhat desperately, holding on to the fragile hope he’d managed to find in the rapid progress of Qui-Gon’s recovery.

First hanging his own and his master’s cloaks by the door, Obi-Wan knelt at Qui-Gon’s feet and began unfastening his boots, listening with half an ear to Anakin exploring their new rooms.

Qui’s warm hand brushed through his hair. “Thank you, love. I’m sorry to be such a burden.”

“Hush, Master. You’re no burden. Not while you’re alive,” Obi-Wan replied truthfully, tugging off first one boot then the other and placing them with his own boots and Anakin’s shoes by the door. At that moment, Qui-Gon’s new padawan appeared at the door of one of the rooms to announce, “I found the padawan’s room you told me about, and this must be Master Qui-Gon’s room because the bed is _huge._ But where are you going to sleep, Knight Kenobi?”

Master and Knight-Elect looked at one another and it was all the latter could do not to laugh, in part at the gleam of anticipation in Qui-Gon’s eyes. This would be the first they had shared a bed since the master’s injury.

“Obi-Wan and I will sleep together, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said serenely. “As we have for several years. That’s one of the reasons the bed is so large—because he takes up so much of it.”

“Master!” Obi-Wan protested, and did laugh then.

Anakin, however, looked troubled and frightened. Obi-Wan waited for the inevitable question from a boy who knew nothing of Temple ways and only that people shared a bed—and their bodies—because they were forced to. It was better dealt with sooner than later and by the boy’s master.

“Will I have to sleep with you, too, when Knight Kenobi goes away?” he asked in the same small voice Obi-Wan had heard him use when he’d started to teach the boy the basics of meditation.

“No, Padawan,” Qui-Gon replied gently. “Not unless the circumstances of a mission dictate it; for instance, if there is only one bed, or we must sleep together to share warmth, both of which are sometimes the case. Obi-Wan and I share a bed because we’ve chosen each other, and love each other, but that happens only rarely with masters and their padawans, and it is not expected of you or any other apprentice. You’re quite free to marry Amidala when you’re older,” he said with a mischievous smile.

Anakin grinned and blushed. “Who told you I said that?”

“One of the handmaidens,” Qui-Gon winked. “Ani, no one here or in any Jedi temple will use your body without your consent. You belong to yourself now. The training will be hard, but we ask nothing that would shame you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Qui-Gon,” the boy replied earnestly, clearly wanting to believe his new master.

Obi-Wan could barely keep himself from wincing at the reassuring half-truth, thinking back to his own pain trials and some of their missions. What Qui-Gon said was true—from a certain point of view. No one _at the Temple_ would use him, Bruck’s experience notwithstanding, but others would or would try to. He wondered how hard that would be for Anakin to cope with when the time came, given his background. Of course, there was no telling how any padawan would react until the time came, and there had been moments that had almost broken him—had broken him—moments and events from which he had recovered and gone on, changed and toughened. Still, he could not help thinking that his former master had taken on a task fraught with more difficulties than usual. Anakin’s life had not been easy, by any stretch of imagination, but it had not been hard as a Jedi’s was hard.

“Ani, would you make Master Qui-Gon some tea while I find us some dinner?” he said to distract himself as much as the boy.

“Yes, Ser,” he replied, and scurried off to the kitchen.

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon, sitting thoughtfully in his chair. “Will you be all right while I—”

“I’ll be fine, fusspot.” His master cut him off with an affectionate exasperation. “I promise not to do anything foolish while you’re rummaging through stores or off at the refectory or wherever you’re going. But you must stop coddling me, Obi-Wan. If I don’t take a few falls, I’ll never learn how to get up again, will I?”

“It’s not like one of the initiates—”

“It’s precisely like that. More specifically, it’s like watching your padawan take hits in the salles or get injured in a tournament. So I do know how hard it is, love,” Qui-Gon said drily, but with empathy. “But you’re not doing me any favors, in the long run.”

“I suppose not,” he sighed. “My first lesson in the training of padawans?”

“The first of many, quite possibly. How do you feel, by the way, about being involved in some of Anakin’s training, at least while we’re here? He will need tutoring in the physical courses to catch up, as well as in his regular studies. I’m afraid I’m not up to anything but the latter for the time being,” he smiled sourly, “and you’re more than competent in the former.”

“If you wish, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, feeling uneasy at the prospect of taking any responsibility for Qui-Gon’s new padawan, despite his teaching experience at the home temple, where he was a well-liked and sought-after instructor, in the salles and the classroom. He had always enjoyed being an instructor, but teaching Anakin seemed different somehow, and not just because they’d gotten off to a rocky start, though he could not say what made him apprehensive.

“This isn’t an order, Obi-Wan. You’re officially a Knight-Elect now and can do as you think best,” Qui-Gon told him mildly, no trace of expectation in his voice.

For some reason, the words and the freedom implicit in them chilled rather than warmed him. He felt as though he’d been cast adrift suddenly. As Qui-Gon’s padawan, he had rarely hesitated to disagree with his master, from the first moments of their relationship. They were both headstrong, both opinionated, and both aware of it. Qui-Gon had used those characteristics to develop Obi-Wan’s analytical abilities, rarely overriding him before making him explain his reasoning, if the situation allowed it. But, as a padawan, Obi-Wan also knew when not to question, and also that his questioning would not jeopardize his relationship with his Master. Now that Qui-Gon was no longer his master . . .

“I won’t think less of you if you refuse,” Qui-Gon said. “Anakin is my responsibility, not yours.”

Obi-Wan shook himself mentally. What was wrong with him? What was he afraid of? “Of course I’ll help Ani, Qui. You’re needing less and less of my help anyway. It will give me something to do besides cool my heels and wait for you to cut my braid. Are you going to put him in classes?”

“Not just yet. He has too little control of his abilities—and his temper. That’s one of the things I’ll be working on with him. I’d like you to see to his physical training as much as possible. If you think putting him in a class would help, I’ll consider it. See what the classes here are like, if you would.”

“Don’t you think it would be wise to give him an opportunity to make new friends? If he’s isolated from the other initiates and padawans from the beginning he may find it much more difficult later on. Especially as your padawan.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Is my reputation so formidable? Very well. You may be right about giving him the opportunity to make friends, though I think he should be introduced to classes gradually.”

“I agree. But you can at least have him eat with the others in the refectory.”

“Very true, and wisely said,” Qui-Gon conceded, eyes twinkling. “You see? I am no more intractable than I was before.”

“That, My Master, is saying very little,” Obi-Wan smirked.

Anakin emerged then with tea things and set them on the table beside Qui-Gon. A gentle curl of steam rose from the pot’s spout, but the boy looked crestfallen

“I tried heating the water like you and Knight Kenobi do but it didn’t work, so I had to do it the usual way.”

Qui-Gon brushed his hand through Anakin’s hair in a gesture at once familiar and new to Obi-Wan. “My master would say there is no ‘try’; there is only ‘do,’ or ‘do not.’ In this case, it’s no shame that you ‘did not.’ It’s not a skill most padawans learn very young.”

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed. “It takes a very fine control of the Force, not just potential ability. You have a great deal of the latter and not much of the former. But that’s what your master and others will teach you.”

“Will you be teaching me too, Knight Kenobi?”

“Yes, Ani, I will. Right now, though, I‘d like you to come down to the refectory with me and help me bring back our dinner. Tomorrow we’ll take you down to stores and get you some proper clothing, and see what to do about classes and tutoring while Master Qui-Gon is with the healers.”

“Yes, Ser!” Eager to explore, Anakin quickly forgot his disappointment and raced for the door, sliding into his shoes and fairly bouncing with impatience. Obi-Wan followed him at a slower pace, telling Anakin not to be in such a rush when it wasn’t necessary, that a Jedi learned to conserve his energy and walk with dignity—the latter said from the undignified position of bending over to pull on his own boots.

He sensed Qui-Gon watching them both out the door with a content amusement.

 

Both his master and Ani went to bed—the one with the reluctance of youth, the other with an invalid’s weary frustration—quite soon after dinner, leaving Obi-Wan to restlessly finish their unpacking, scant as it was even with the things Master Windu had sent on before them from Coruscant. He did a little exploring on his own as well, both of the Arkania Temple itself and of the schedule of classes it offered, planning to come to breakfast with a datapad full of suggestions and information.

He ordered up stores for their larder, compiled a tentative schedule for Ani, read for a time, then, finding himself still restless, went for a long swim in the Temple’s pool. On this mild world it was outdoors beneath the sky, softly lit and gently warmed even at night. Smaller than any of the pools at the main temple, it was very pleasantly set in a garden, reached by following a short stone path winding through flowering bushes that gave it some privacy from the rest of the garden. This late at night, he was the only one in it and decided to strip off his clothes entirely. He dove in from the side with hardly a splash and came up halfway down the length, swimming strongly. After a few hard laps to burn off some of his energy, he turned over on his back and drifted for a while, looking at the stars and scudding clouds, sculling gently to keep himself afloat.

The sky seemed wide and deep from this vantage, spreading out from this little temple like his future before him. He couldn’t deny he felt a certain amount of excitement and a great deal of pleasure at the thought of serving the Order and the Republic as a knight. After years of work and training he had finally achieved the goal he had dreamed of since childhood. In a short while, his master would cut his braid and trim the padawan tail and then . . . Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi would pack his things and leave, going wherever the Council sent him.

The missions would likely be easy, at first, to break him in gently. Depending on the knight’s talents, they could include simple negotiations, liaison work, investigative aid, a ceremonial show of force at contested elections, bodyguarding for visiting or traveling dignitaries. Within the year he would be asked to undertake progressively more dangerous and difficult tasks: espionage, undercover civilian police investigations, military infiltrations, cease-fire enforcement, war zone evacuations. He would probably work alone, most of the time, might occasionally be paired with another knight or master. Since he was the first of his year to be knighted, it would be some time before he began to work with his yearmates. The one certainty was that he would probably not work with Qui-Gon again, except under unusual circumstances.

He was surprised to find his feelings about that were mixed.

On the one hand, he had always thought he and Qui-Gon would go on much as they had always been when he was knighted. He had looked forward to continuing to learn from Qui-Gon’s experience, and to working with him as a peer instead of under his protection and direction. On the other hand, the older he grew and the longer they were together, the more Obi-Wan had begun to wonder just how possible such a partnership was, at least right away. He knew it would take more than the simple act of cutting his braid to change his status in Qui-Gon’s eyes. They had worked together for twelve years as master and apprentice and it would take time and effort to learn the ways of a more equal partnership. It would take time for him to learn how to be a knight, to prove himself to the Council and to his former master.

So perhaps it was well that Qui-Gon had another padawan waiting to step into his place. Qui-Gon might more readily come to see him as a peer if they didn’t work together for a time. Obi-Wan could come to him with his own accomplishments, confidence in his own abilities, his own record of successes and failures.

And he knew Anakin was not precisely taking his place. Qui-Gon’s padawans were each very different, and only with Obi-Wan had he become something more than a master or even friend. Though it had stung him when Qui-Gon taken Anakin as his padawan before Obi-Wan had passed his trials—or even been put forward for them—he knew his place in Qui-Gon’s affections was secure.

None of this changed the fact that he would miss the large, confident presence walking serenely just a few steps in front of him each time he left the Temple. That would take some getting use to as well.

So much change!

And yet one fundamental thing remained: they loved each other. No matter anything but death, he would come back to Qui-Gon, to their quarters, their bed, their life together. Somehow, he had managed to thwart the vision of the pyre that had haunted him since their earliest days as lovers. Perhaps now they would grow old together.

Obi-Wan turned again in the water and swam hard for the end of the pool where he had left towel and clothing. It was time to go home for the night and join his master—his partner—in their bed.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon, for his part, slept so soundly that he heard nothing of Obi-Wan’s activities and was surprised to wake with his lover spooned up behind him, nuzzling his shoulder and the back of his neck. Sunlight streamed in the east-facing windows and for a confused moment, he thought they were home again. But no; Mace had no doubt arranged the accommodations himself and knew Qui-Gon’s preference for dawn-side windows as well as Obi-Wan did. That his padawan—his partner and lover—was wide awake, holding him while he lay slugabed, bathed in sunlight, was a cruel reminder of his current distance from health. In some ways, it was not the best start to his day, pleasant as it was to feel Obi-Wan’s warm, bare body pressed against his own.

Over breakfast, Obi-Wan was full of both information and suggestions regarding the Temple and Anakin’s training. A fraction of the size of the home temple on Coruscant, Arkania housed only a few hundred Jedi, some of them nearing retirement—as much as Jedi ever retired—or a few, like Qui-Gon, recovering from injuries or illness. There were only a handful of masters with padawans, and barely a dozen initiates in the creche. Most of the initiates were much younger than Ani and the padawans much older—a less than ideal introduction to temple life, Obi-Wan and his master agreed. He could only hope Anakin’s own friendliness and the kindness ingrained in all of them would suffice to make his new padawan feel welcome.

While Anakin cleaned up, they discussed possibilities for his training in a way that suggested they were more colleagues than master and apprentice, as indeed, they were now. Qui-Gon found he was not yet used to the idea, though Obi-Wan seemed to be settling into it quite well. Afterwards, he sent the two of them off to explore the temple together and make arrangements for Ani while Qui-Gon made his own slow way to the Healers Hall.

They met again at lunch in the refectory, Anakin dressed in new initiates’ clothes and seeming awed by the idea of owning more than one set of them. The few knights and masters who shared the room with them at the time made their way over to the trio’s table to introduce themselves and make them welcome, though all were strangers to both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. Few were from the main temple on Coruscant and many of those were older even than Qui-Gon, who muttered something about Arkania being the Jedi holo museum, it was so full of ancient exhibits. Obi-Wan found his master’s peevishness amusing, smirking at him over lunch.

Word about Anakin had obviously spread in the wake of his visit to stores with Obi-Wan, as there was a great deal of curiosity about the boy. The positive side of this was that it meant Anakin was introduced to nearly everyone his own age within his first day in residence.

The remainder of the day was taken up with tests; therapy; the composition of messages in reply to everyone who had forwarded well-wishes to the little Temple in anticipation of his arrival; attending to the bureaucratic business of putting Obi-Wan forward for knighthood and enrolling Anakin as an official initiate—and to a disconcertingly long nap. He woke from it to find Obi-Wan in the act of taking his datapad from his hands and kissing his forehead. The wonderful smells of Obi-Wan’s cooking wafted from the kitchen and the table, he noted, was set for two.

“Anakin asked permission to eat in the refectory again,” Obi-Wan informed him. “He’s made a new friend already, and the girl’s master said she’d send him back later tonight. I didn’t think you’d mind if I said yes.”

“Not at all. That’s a very good development in Ani’s adjustment. Not to mention the fact that it allows me to spend some time alone with you.”

Obi-Wan smiled and kissed his mouth this time, taking his time about it. “I thought you might appreciate that aspect.”

They ate what should have been a very pleasant dinner together, spending some of it discussing Anakin’s training, and the rest carefully discussing nothing at all, especially not the issue of Obi-Wan’s impending knighthood and what that would mean for both of them. Qui-Gon felt it looming over them like an approaching storm. It spoiled even the lovely wine Obi-Wan had managed to find somewhere.

Finally, when the verbal maneuvering had become almost too much to bear, and Qui-Gon was on the verge of broaching the subject himself, Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, put down his cup and reached across the table to lay his hand over Qui-Gon’s. A spike of dread made his heart skip a beat. But Obi-Wan’s words surprised him.

“Qui—Master. I owe you an apology for the things I said to you when,” he stumbled for a moment as though the words would not quite come out, “when you were injured. I was furious with you, and jealous—”

“Jealous?” Qui-Gon interjected, surprised.

“Of Ani. That you’d—that your last words to me were about him.” Obi-Wan looked away, cheeks flushing with shame.

Stunned, Qui-Gon sat back in his chair and stared, but not at Obi-Wan. No, anywhere but. Had the last things he’d said been about Anakin? Had he been so cruel? Had he been so consumed by his own certainty about the boy and his need to be right? The memories were hazy and he remembered more what Obi-Wan had said to him, and the anger and fear behind it, than his own words.

He remembered the urgency he’d felt, the sense of unfinished business, along with the pain, knowing he was dying. How extraordinary that knowledge had been, and yet how prosaic. Was it possible all that urgency had been for Anakin’s sake? It had been—still was—almost intoxicating to be near the boy, his Force presence was so strong. He thrummed with life in a way no one Qui-Gon had ever met did. Had that fact clouded his judgement, distracted him from his duties and true priorities?

Unbidden, ringing through his mind in his own voice, came the words _Then I will train him._ On their heels a burst of shock-hurt-anger, speedily shielded as Obi-Wan, supporting him as always, added, “I’m ready for my trials.”

And he heard the same almost undetectable hesitation now in Obi-Wan’s voice, felt the subtle thickening of his shields through their bond, and wondered what his lover had started to say.

“Qui . . . ?” Obi-Wan said after a moment, puzzled uncertainty in his voice.

He looked up then, meeting his padawan’s—his lover’s gaze set in a concerned frown.

“I think perhaps I’ve acted very badly, Obi-Wan. I truly don’t remember what I said to you when I was struck down, but I do remember what I said of Anakin in front of the Council.”

It was his padawan’s turn then to drop his gaze, obviously knowing what he meant. “It doesn’t matter, Qui—”

Qui-Gon reached across the table and took Obi-Wan’s chin in his hand, raising it. “Yes,” he disagreed, looking into the green eyes, “it does. I wonder you haven’t brought it up before. Really, it was an unconscionable thing to say. It must have seemed to everyone—you most of all—that you didn’t matter to me, that I was throwing away all the years we’d spent together, disregarding all your hard work, throwing you aside for an untried boy I was clearly obsessed with. Isn’t that true?”

Beneath his fingers, Qui-Gon felt the muscles in Obi-Wan’s jaw flex, saw them harden. “Yes,” he agreed. “It did seem like that,” he admitted, almost defiantly.

Though he’d known it was true, the admission still stung. He knew also that he deserved harsher words than Obi-Wan would give him. “And yet you stepped right into the breach with me, too kind to show your old master what a fool he was being by arguing with me in front of the Council.”

“You make that sound as if it’s a bad thing,” Obi-Wan snapped, pulling away.

Qui-Gon twirled the stem of his wineglass gently between his fingers and looked away again. “Whatever fault there is, is mine, Padawan. I could not ask for a more conscientious, hard working, intelligent, gifted, or kinder apprentice than you have been to me in our years together. If it seemed I was pushing you out of the den to make way for a new pup, without regard for your feelings or your opinion, well,” he paused, “it’s because I was.” He looked up again, saw the hurt flash across Obi-Wan’s features and then felt the stab in his own heart as they settled into a cold stony blankness.

Qui-Gon sighed. This should have been simple and easy and joyful, the way it had been with Ayana. Somehow, he’d managed to make a mess of yet another padawan’s trip into knighthood.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, “you were ready. That’s quite obvious by your performance. I’d already put you forward before we left for Naboo the first time. I didn’t tell you because it hadn’t yet been approved before I found Anakin. But I had no doubt it would be. You were as ready as I’ve ever seen anyone.” He reached across the table, cupped the younger man’s face in his hands. “I never meant to hurt you. Please forgive me.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and sat very still, seeming almost to stop breathing. Qui-Gon’s thumbs moved softly across his cheeks. After a moment, the younger man let out a loud gust and opened his eyes again, swallowing heavily. His own hands came up and covered his master’s and he turned and kissed the palm of one hand, then brought both together between his own. “You made me what I am,” he said in a choked voice. “How could I not forgive you?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Again, the padawan teaches the master.”

“And what have I taught you this time, My Master?” Obi-Wan smiled, still holding Qui-Gon’s hands pressed between his own as they leaned across the table toward each other.

“That I am so very often wrong. There is always a cost in attending to duty, and that is something I often forget. Too often, the cost of my attention to duty is life or happiness for someone else. That’s what you have taught me. Duty is blind and consuming, Obi-Wan. It is important, but the price should always be considered. Anakin’s training is important, very important. But I want you to know that very little is as important to me as you are.” The message Yoda had sent haunting him now, he went on with an urgency that obviously surprised Obi-Wan, “I want you to remember this in the days to come, when you are knighted and your path diverges from mine, as it will, as we always knew it would. Promise me that.”

“An easy promise to make,” he smiled.

“Perhaps not so easy to keep, my love.”

“I will, though. No matter what. I will always remember this moment.”

Qui-Gon looked into the eyes of the man who had been his padawan and was still his lover, wondering how he had changed, grown, matured so quickly. Obi-Wan returned his master’s gaze calmly, with patience, waiting for his thoughts to resolve and for the words he was deciding upon. “I shall cling to that hope as I grow old and cantankerous and feeble,” Qui-Gon said finally with a disarming smile.

“As long as you don’t start acting like Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan added with a grin. He let go his master’s hands and began to clear the table.

Some hours later, Anakin returned to find them on the couch in a reversal of their usual positions: Qui-Gon stretched out to his full length, feet propped on the arm of the couch, head in Obi-Wan’s lap, and Obi-Wan sitting up, very carefully plaiting Qui-Gon’s hair into a number of padawan-size braids, tying each off with a different color tie. Anakin watched curiously for a moment, obviously arrested by the sight, then blurted, “I thought only padawans had little braids like that.”

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and smiled. “Usually. Obi-Wan’s only keeping his hand in because his will soon be gone—ouch. No pulling, Padawan, if you please.”

“That’s Knight-Elect, Master, not padawan. You’d better hope Master Qui-Gon hasn’t forgotten how to do this, since he’ll soon be braiding yours, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, winking. “He hasn’t braided mine in years.”

Qui-Gon ignored him grandly. “How was your evening, Ani? Tell me about your new friend and her master.”

Anakin chattered happily away, summing up the evening and his new friend as “wizard,” then wondering as an afterthought why he hadn’t seen her in the refectory earlier. Obi-Wan explained the divisions of tables there, and that she had probably been eating with other padawans, or with her master at a temple this small, and suggested that he introduce himself to the initiates as well, for the time being. “You’re not quite a padawan yet, the way I’m not quite a knight, so we’re both in awkward positions here. I can’t really sit with the knights and masters yet, though I’m too old to sit with most of the padawans, and you probably shouldn’t sit with them yet either, as you’re still in initiates’ clothing and haven’t had your hair cut. But you’re free to socialize outside the refectory.”

“It’s a tradition made more for the convenience of masters than anyone,” Qui-Gon added, anticipating Anakin’s question. “It gives us a brief respite from the company of our troublesome padawans. Isn’t that so, Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Master,” he agreed with mock humility, then stage-whispered, “it’s really so we padawans don’t have to spend all our time with our stuffy old masters.”

Anakin giggled, then reluctantly took himself off to bed at Qui-Gon’s direction. Obi-Wan padded off to the fresher while Qui-Gon tucked the boy in, his master taking his place as he retreated to their own bedroom.

“I forgot to ask you earlier, Qui: what did the healers say?” Obi-Wan inquired as he settled into the large bed at last.

“Apparently, my recovery is progressing very well,” Qui-Gon informed his lover, sighing as he propped himself up with a reader in one hand. “The nerves are regenerated, the other injuries are completely healed, and they expect that in three or four tens I’ll be able to go back to the salles.”

“That’s excellent news,” Obi-Wan beamed.

“—where I shall have to start again at about the same level as Anakin,” Qui-Gon grumbled.

“Hardly. Your body remembers, doesn’t it,” Obi-Wan scoffed with the off-hand confidence of youth.

“It certainly remembers some things. All too well,” his lover replied, stroking Obi-Wan’s cheek with the back of a hand disconcertingly smooth from the prolonged bacta exposure and the forced inactivity.

Obi-Wan leaned over and kissed Qui-Gon gently, almost hesitantly, as though afraid of starting something. His lover returned it just as hesitantly and drew back.

“Of course, not everything is quite in working order yet,” Qui-Gon added regretfully. “Though the urge is certainly there.”

“And what have the healers said about that?” There was a glint in Obi-Wan’s eye that might have been eagerness, mischief, humor, or all three.

“The same. Give it time. As well you’re a knight-elect now.” Qui-Gon heard the sour ruefulness in his own voice and was hard put to find it amusing.

“Yes, but I’m not fasting the whole time, am I? Who knows when we’ll be back to Coruscant for the ceremony? I’d be a wraith!” Obi-Wan laughed and leaned forward again. “And there are any number of ways for us to make love, Qui,” he murmured before planting a much more aggressive kiss on Qui-Gon’s lips, teasing them open with his tongue. Qui-Gon returned it for a moment, then pushed him away gently.

“It’s not that I don’t want you, love. Light knows I do—now more than ever. But now is not the time, for either of us. When you are knighted and I am—whole, then we shall begin again. We shall have to begin again, because you will no longer be my apprentice, but my peer.” Qui-Gon took his chin in one hand, thumb slipping easily into the cleft, as though it were made for that purpose. “I know how hot-blooded you are,” he said, smiling with the serenity he knew his apprentice found so provoking—and that he didn’t quite feel himself. “It won’t hurt you to practice your control. You will have need of it, my knight-to-be.”

Sighing exaggeratedly, Obi-Wan folded his hands on his lap, visibly willing his erection into quiescence. “Then we shall be as strangers until I am knighted, My Master,” he replied with mock humility.

“Not strangers, Obi-Wan. Friends, perhaps, instead of lovers, for the moment. But never strangers.”

“You have always been my friend, Qui,” he said, with obvious deep affection and a hint of regret.

They kissed again, chastely, and curled up together. Qui-Gon lay in the dark, Obi-Wan’s body warm in his arms, wanting, suddenly, to hold on to him like this forever. He knew that was an impossibility. The day had finally come when his lover would walk away, with or without looking back. No, he thought in the darkness, it was not his lover walking away from him, but his padawan. It was the nature of padawans to walk away, and he could feel the rightness of Obi-Wan’s new rank in every bone and sinew. It was lovers who were supposed to stay with one, always. And yet that was foolishness too.

He knew Obi-Wan loved him, would continue to love him whether they were together or apart, and he had always known that their time as constant companions would end. He knew he was cheating a little now by keeping Obi-Wan with him while he recuperated. By any rights, he could have been knighted on Naboo and launched into active service instead of remaining in this awkward in-between state for much longer than normal. Knights-elect rarely were such for more than a few days. Obi-Wan had been one far longer than normal already. Even though he preferred it so, wanting to wait until they returned to Coruscant to have the ceremony with his friends present, Qui-Gon still felt he was taking advantage of his apprentice’s good will. But he found, for once, a need in himself that only Obi-Wan answered.

Their twelve years as master and apprentice had flown by so rapidly. Those years had made Obi-Wan a man, a knight in his own right and time, made him independent, experienced, and shrewd, where he had already been spirited and intelligent, and no less stubborn than he had ever been. During the last five years, they had both learned to love one another as deeply as two people could, and Obi-Wan never seemed more content than at Qui-Gon’s side, no matter he had another lover whom he cared for deeply. It was hard to imagine his life without Obi-Wan’s constant presence. He wondered if his padawan were feeling the same way or if he were eager to test his wings. Both perhaps. He suspected Obi-Wan would adjust to the change much more easily than he. It was, Qui-Gon reflected ruefully, always easier to be the one leaving than the one left behind.

Especially now that the Council was once again meddling in their future, and it was impossible to say when, or even if, they might see one another again, once separated. This or any of the other small temples would never do as a place to train Anakin. The boy needed friends his own age, and there were few here, but he also needed, if Yoda’s suspicions were correct, to be out of Palpatine’s reach and, if possible, his awareness. Hiding Ani in plain sight at the mother temple was no longer a possibility with Palpatine hovering as Supreme Chancellor and Qui-Gon one of the main agents of choice for senate-generated assignments. Every time he reported to the Senate Anakin would be at his side, under Palpatine’s watchful and curious eye. No, they would have to find another temple, at least until Palpatine was voted out of office, perhaps for longer.

And that would take him away from Obi-Wan.

And as far as he could tell, this meant nothing good for either of them. Separation from Obi-Wan felt as wrong as his new knighthood felt right. At first Qui-Gon had thought this was merely his own selfishness and fears speaking, the fears of an old man brought back from death by the lively spirit of his lover. Continued meditation told him it was, in fact, something worse: one of his rare premonitions of a troubled future, one Yoda shared also. The discussion with Mace had further confirmed his feelings. Yet he could see no way out of it. Anakin had to be trained, and kept from Palpatine’s clutches until he was ready for his trials; Obi-Wan must go his own way as a knight. So much depended on both these events. But of all the sacrifices he had made for the Order, this was the hardest one to make, letting his lover go.

With his usual restlessness, the younger man turned in his master’s arms and nestled himself beneath Qui-Gon’s chin, their bodies fitting together in an old and comfortable familiarity. A deep ache settled into Qui-Gon’s chest. He tightened his hold and stared into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

The days settled into a comfortable routine that was almost like their days at the home temple, Qui-Gon substituting physical therapy for sparring in the salles, and basic lessons with Anakin to advanced ones with Obi-Wan. Anakin continued to make new friends in the first few days, displaying the boldness and charm that had so amused both Padme and Qui-Gon on Tatooine. Their second time in the refectory, he zeroed in on the initiates’ table, and with an approving nod from Qui-Gon, walked up and introduced himself. There was only one other youngster his age at the table—a Phuii named Nisha Rao—and the two of them soon grew quite close. The young Zabraki padawan Ani had first become friends with, Niaouli Magyar, joined them whenever possible as well.

Obi-Wan busied himself with Anakin’s physical tutoring and teaching other classes at the temple. Congratulatory messages from Bruck and Bant and Reeft arrived as soon as the rumors of his impending knighthood had been confirmed. Even Garen unbent enough to send him a terse “Well done.”

Qui-Gon’s therapy proceeded apace with improvements evidencing themselves almost daily. It was not long before the walker was traded in for a cane and Obi-Wan stopped holding his breath every time Qui-Gon got to his feet. Three tens after their arrival, he and Obi-Wan took their first run together. Both of them found it a great relief, though it was not a long run. When they had gone as far as Qui-Gon had been advised to go, Obi-Wan stood watching him catch his breath with an enormous grin on his face. Qui-Gon answered it by slapping his ass and saying, “you’re not done yet. Get going, Padawan.” Obi-Wan yelped and took off at a sprint, and came in later glistening with sweat and smelling . . . delicious.

Qui-Gon was relieved to find he was recovering all around.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Obi-Wan met Anakin outside his history lecture and took him to the temple workshops, which were then occupied by two padawans about his own age, and two older knights. The boy immediately perked up and would have liked to see what everyone was building, but Obi-Wan beckoned him into another room, where a stout Sullustan waited for them beside a small, locked panel. Once inside the room, Anakin almost immediately forgot about the workshop and stood transfixed.

“What’s in here?” he said faintly, eyes unfocused in an expression quite familiar to any Jedi.

“Adegan crystals,” Obi-Wan answered, shivering a little himself at the prickle of power in the air. “I thought I would look over the selection here and see if any might be suitable for my new lightsaber. Master Qui-Gon suggested you might want to come along and have a look for yourself. You’ll need to build your own soon.”

Seeming a little hypnotized, Anakin just nodded and stood beside Obi-Wan as the Sullustan unlocked the panel, revealing a number of shallow drawers. “Any particular color, Padawan?” he asked of Obi-Wan.

“Let’s start with blue. That was the color of my last one, and it was an easy tuning.”

The Sullustan keyed open one of the small drawers and pulled it completely out of the wall, turning to lay it on a small table. Obi-Wan followed him and sat down with the drawer in front of him while Anakin stood beside him. He watched as the knight-elect closed his eyes and let himself fall into what Anakin now recognized as a light meditation. After a moment, eyes still closed, he lifted his hand and let it hover over the drawer. Inside, the raw stones began to glow with a soft blue light and Anakin shivered.

Obi-Wan felt it too: there were some fine crystals here, as good as any he might find at the home temple. He could see their shapes in his mind—not their physical shapes, but the shape and amplitude of the light they gave off, would give off when correctly aligned and powered. After a few minutes, a surprisingly short time, three stones began to glow more brightly than the others in his mind and he dipped his hand into the drawer to touch them. They were warm beneath his fingers, unlike the others around them, which seemed cool and ghostly by contrast. He plucked them out of the softly lined drawer and held them in his hand, feeling their power coruscate through his body.

He hefted the crystals for a moment, rubbing his thumb over their rough surfaces. Building a saber required the skills of a jeweler and an engineer as well as a Jedi’s sensitivity to the Force, and the more stones involved, the higher the level of skills and sensitivity required. Still, it was not the Jedi who chose the stones, but the stones that chose the Jedi, or so Qui-Gon had taught him long ago. Even so, very few but the older masters had three-crystal sabers, his own master being one of them.

This would be a tricky saber to build with three crystals. His last saber had been a fixed-amplitude single-stone blade, like most first models were. Very few padawans had the requisite skill or sensitivity to the Force to build multi-crystal sabers. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he did. It would be hard to facet the crystals just right to start with, to get the maximum power without overheating and/or overloading the surrounding components. Hard to align them correctly after that, as well; just deciding which one should abut the power source—and what kind of power source to use—would be a problem. Difficult to make sure they all stayed solidly in contact even with rough handling when using multiple mounts. The problems with this sort of saber were legion.

But if built correctly, it would be a fine weapon with a variable length and amplitude blade, more powerful than most sabers, which could already cut through anything but each other. But would the casing have to be larger than he was used to . . .

And then it struck him. These weren’t stones for a saber. They were stones for a staff, like the one that had nearly defeated him, one he saw himself wielding, in a flash of something that might be the future.

He was so startled that he nearly dropped the crystals.

“Padawan?” the Sullustan said. “Is there a problem?”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and had his first sight of the stones. They glowed in his hand like stars, bright and warm. “No,” he said softly. “I’ll take these.”

 

* * *

 

“A staff,” Qui-Gon said. “You’re sure of it?”

“They’re too powerful for a saber. Can’t you feel them? And there’s no question that they belong together. Separating them doesn’t seem right at all. But the casing they’d need is too big even for your hands, as a saber hilt. I’m not sure it wouldn’t be too big for a Wookiee. But a staff would need a larger grip already.”

Qui-Gon declined to ask the obvious question. Obi-Wan had chosen the stones that had called to him. What he would do with them was another matter—and no longer Qui-Gon’s business, strictly speaking.

“There is, of course, the fact that I have no training in handling a lightstaff,” Obi-Wan went on with relentless logic. “But they are meant for a staff. And the stones are meant for me.”

“I don’t believe any Jedi has ever used a staff,” Qui-Gon observed, his voice carefully neutral, but his mind no doubt filled with the memory of the red-bladed Sith weapon he had so recently and so disastrously faced. It had been skillfully wielded, and as a weapon for a Force sensitive, it was dangerous and versatile.

“Just one. At least just one as far as our recorded history goes. Many centuries ago. During the First Sith War.”

“Ah,” was all Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan remained silent, looking at the softly glowing crystals in his palm. He knew they belonged to him now, the same way he had known the crystal in his first saber was right. That they belonged in a staff was something he still could not quite wrap his mind around. It had been a flash of insight, but his own or something from the Force? Further meditation might answer that question, or it might not. Always in motion was the future, as Yoda was so fond of saying. Obi-Wan had just proven that very maxim, Qui-Gon himself the very material proof.

“There is also the question of whether the Council will allow you to build anything but a saber,” his master added.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed.

“Did you look at any others, or did you stop with these?”

“I just took these. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. Now I’m not so certain.”

“Perhaps you should look again. See if anything else speaks to you.”

“Instead of these?”

“In addition. It never hurts to have spare crystals with you.”

Obi-Wan looked at his master. Qui-Gon’s expression was guileless, serene. He was merely making a suggestion. Jedi did often carry extra crystals. He hefted the stones again. They felt right, still, but also as though they were . . . waiting. Power _in potentia._ Not precisely in reserve, but as though they themselves were not yet ready to be used, despite Obi-Wan’s initial attraction to them.

“Yes. Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed.

 

The Sullustan saw nothing at all odd about Obi-Wan returning to search of another crystal. It wasn’t the first time an over-eager padawan or knight had bitten off more than he could chew.

“Those other three not work out, hey?”

“A bit too much for me to handle at the moment,” Obi-Wan conceded.

“They’ll make a fine weapon when you’re ready.”

“Yes, I believe they will,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Let me try the next drawer for now.”

Two days later, after a much longer search, Obi-Wan found two small but nearly perfect violet crystals that erupted with light in his hand. By the time they were ready to return to Coruscant three tens later, he had put together a very finely tuned and carefully built variable-amplitude, two-crystal saber. Anakin had watched its construction with deep fascination and an astute grasp of the mechanics of the device.

Switching it on for the first time, Obi-Wan felt its rightness in his hands. The casing was something like Qui-Gon’s, in homage to his teacher, and something like his old one because it had been comfortable, with newer elements necessitated by the changed engineering design. Having successfully finished this one after so many intense days of delicate work—concentrated effort that had left him as drained as any physical workout—he knew he could never have built a stable three-crystal saber. It was a much more involved process than he had imagined to cut, facet, mount, power, and modulate even two crystals. Three would have been quite beyond his capabilities. He would have ruined the stones, ruined the casing, and possibly injured himself. Trying to fashion a staff on top of this would have been, well, a doomed project, if not a disaster.

But perhaps it would not be in a few years time.

 

* * *

 

The night before their departure, Obi-Wan knelt between Qui-Gon’s knees in the fresher, the master on the lid of the commode, Obi-Wan on the tile floor with a towel around his neck and over his shoulders, and submitted to the last haircut Qui-Gon would give him as his padawan.

“You’re cutting it awfully short, Master,” Obi-Wan protested, watching the lengths of red-gold hair fall around him and holding up one nearly as long as his finger for his master to see.

“That’s because you’ve let it grow quite long, Padawan. You should still look like a padawan for the ceremony, at least. After that, you can grow it as long as you like. Though I would suggest you keep it fairly short. Long hair can be a deadly liability in combat.”

“But yours is long, Master Qui-Gon,” Anakin piped up from where he was watching the proceedings in the doorway to the fresher.

“Yes, it is, Ani. But I keep it tied back, and I’m not often in combat situations anymore, and haven’t been as much as Obi-Wan will be when he’s knighted.” That he hadn’t cared whether he lived or died when he’d first grown it out was a bit of information the boy didn’t need to know, though Obi-Wan was aware of it. “And Obi-Wan likes it this way.”

“Yes, I do,” he said softly, laying one hand over Qui-Gon’s bare foot. “But you needn’t skin me by contrast.”

“It’s no shorter than it has been in the past, Obi-Wan. It just feels as though it is. Stop fussing.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan sighed, putting on his best martyr’s face and rolling his eyes dramatically, making Anakin laugh.

“You’re not being a very good example to Initiate Skywalker,” Qui-Gon said severely, yanking his tail quite hard.

“Ow! Qui!” He started to turn, but the buzz of razor in his ear stopped him.

“Hold still or you will end up skinned.”

“You must be feeling better, Master,” Obi-Wan muttered in a mock sulk.

The buzz of razor continued for a few moments then stopped. A large hand ruffled through his newly shorn hair and gently wiped the back of his neck with the towel. “Would you get the broom to sweep this up, Ani?” Qui-Gon asked, and the boy disappeared. “What I’m feeling right now,” Qui-Gon whispered in Obi-Wan’s ear, “is a little sad, a little nostalgic, and very proud, my love.”

 

Anakin quietly left the broom and dustpan by the door, not wanting to interrupt what looked like an involved and mushy kiss. Maybe after he’d been at the big temple for a while and had some more training in this Jedi stuff, he’d understand what was going on with Master Qui-Gon and Padawan Kenobi. It wasn’t quite like anything he’d seen before. But being around them when they were like this felt really nice. He hoped it would stay that way.


End file.
